


Dreaming Of Your Hard Hands

by helens78



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Spanking, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-03
Updated: 2011-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser's seen something very inspiring in a videotape Ray keeps stashed under his bed, and he can't stop thinking about it.  Not even while he's sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming Of Your Hard Hands

Fraser is not a _complete_ innocent, for all that some see him that way. Much like any other sexually-inclined man living in the United States, he's seen pornography on video.

All right, it isn't _his_ pornography, it's Ray's, but still. He's seen it, even when Ray isn't home to share. (And then he's rewound it to precisely the same moment it began, ejected it, and stashed it neatly back under Ray's bed, facing the same direction and rotated to the same angle it was at before, sometimes even with a discarded sock lying across it. But that really isn't the point.)

And as it turns out, there are things in Ray's pornography collection that are... interesting.

Arousing.

Even _fascinating_ , Fraser has to admit.

He thinks about some of those things when he's alone in the shower, some mornings. He thinks about hands and asses and cocks, about dark red handprints on pale skin, about the sound of a hard slap and the sting of its impact.

His own skin is very, very pale, and he knows from altercations at work that it does show marks, if he's struck with sufficient force.

It's hard to get out of the shower, those mornings.

* * *

He's dreaming about it. _Again._ One would think, with Ray beside him in the bed, he wouldn't need to have dreams about sexual activity; heaven knows he's getting more of it now, with Ray, than he ever has in his life.

But then perhaps it's the nature and type of dreams that explain the need for him; he certainly isn't doing _this_ with Ray.

In his dreams, he's on all fours, holding perfectly still while Ray strikes him. Ray's hands are curved a bit, to accentuate sound, to keep his palms from stinging if he's at it for long enough. He starts slowly, one blow after another so Fraser can absorb all the sensations--and then he goes faster, faster yet, sometimes striking the same spot seven or eight times before moving on to the other cheek, delivering a spanking the likes of which Fraser's only ever fantasized about in the shower...

Or he's--oh, how embarrasing it is to think about this later--he's over Ray's lap, Ray's fingers threaded through his hair and holding him still, Ray's hand leaving sharp, almost punishing blows against Fraser's skin until Fraser can hardly stand it. He squirms, then, against Ray's bare thighs, and Ray rocks up against him so Fraser can feel that Ray is hard, too, _enjoying_ this...

When he wakes up gasping, sweating, and--dear God-- _sticky_ , despite the previous evening's activity, he knows it's only a matter of time before Ray starts asking about it.

The trouble is, he really has no idea what to say.

* * *

It's actually several weeks before Ray discovers what Fraser's been doing to his bedsheets. He discovers it when he rolls over to curl in close to Fraser, on a lazy weekend morning, and he nearly leaps back.

"What the--the wet spot's not _dry_ yet?"

Fraser blinks sleep out of his eyes as Ray frowns at him in confusion.

"Fraser--you don't have to sleep on the wet spot, the bed's more than big enough, just tell me to roll over or something--"

By this time, Fraser's noticing that he has indeed left a wet spot on the bed, and it is indeed quite uncomfortable. He grimaces and edges carefully away.

And he isn't quite awake yet, it seems, because he says, "I'm sorry, Ray, but no, it's from this morning, I suppose, not last night."

Ray pauses to consider that. The frown doesn't clear from his face. "You could've woken me up--I would've helped out..."

"Oh, well, thank you, but it isn't as though I did it on purpose."

That clears some of the confusion. Ray grins. "Wet dream, huh? You remember it at all?"

"Of course I do; it's the same one I've been having for--"

And now, of course-- _now_ is when Fraser comes awake again. He stops talking mid-sentence and bites his lower lip.

"I'm sorry about the sheets, Ray," he says quietly. "Shall I handle the laundry this weekend?"

"The laundry--I don't care about the laundry," Ray says, blinking at Fraser. "I just wanna know what you've been dreaming about."

Fraser licks his lips; his eyebrow itches fiercely, but he knows that'll convince Ray beyond all doubt that he's hiding something. Ray will _never_ give up if he--

His thumb rubs across his eyebrow as if his entire body has a will of its own this morning. He sighs.

"It isn't anything important," Fraser says. "That is to say--it isn't anything I mind doing without--"

"Doing _without_?" Ray looks a little stunned. "Really? What aren't I doing?"

"Ray, it isn't your fault, I don't see how you could possibly have known--"

"Hey, if there's something I'm not doing, I wanna hear it--"

"--after all, I had no idea _I_ would be interested until I saw it on the--" He's saying too much again, babbling, but he's said enough for Ray to realize that Fraser knows _exactly_ what he's keeping back. _Oh, dear._

Ray rolls onto his side, smiling, and he slides his hand onto Fraser's thigh. Fraser jerks a little, but his body's moving _towards_ Ray, not away. He swallows.

"Saw it on the what?" Ray murmurs, grinning.

"The--ah. Videotape," Fraser says quickly. His cheeks feel like they're burning; even his ears feel warm. "Under your bed, you have. Ah. I hope you don't mind my borrowing them--"

"You found something you wanna do in _porn_?" Ray sounds surprised, but not shocked, and certainly not censorious; his hand is moving, too, slipping down between Fraser's legs, down to his--his-- _ohhhh._ Fraser exhales softly and rolls onto his back; the wet spot seems to matter very, very little just now.

"Tell me," Ray murmurs, bending close, pressing his lips to Fraser's collarbone. "C'mon. I want to know..."

"Ray..." Fraser licks his lips; he can't possibly, couldn't-- "Ray, _Ray_ \--"

"Just tell me one thing about it," Ray whispers, lips tracing a path from near Fraser's shoulder to the center of his chest. "One thing..."

Fraser can't _think_ with Ray's mouth on him like that. "Handprint," he blurts out.

Ray pauses and looks up at him, and Fraser can see the exact moment when Ray puts the pieces together. He slides on top of Fraser, sliding a hand under him--under his ass, squeezing hard as he thrusts down against Fraser's thighs.

"Right here?" Ray murmurs. Fraser swallows and nods.

"Okay," Ray says, grinning again. "I can do that."

If Fraser wasn't bright red before, surely he is now. "You don't have to--"

"Not even if I really wanted to?"

"Oh," Fraser says softly, squirming underneath him. "I--do you? Really?"

"You betcha," Ray says, and he bends his head down and kisses Fraser hard on the mouth.

 _-end-_


End file.
